The First Special
by Lisilgirl
Summary: He was the first special she had ever seen, and now, she was going to be his last. PeterxClairexGabriel


_A/N: This has been on my mind for several days, and I can't seem to get out of it. Listening to Cat Power's: "I Found a Reason" and watching Heroes, I was reminded that not everybody lasts forever. Especially with Peter's ability. How long would it be before he latched onto a new power and kept it?_

_Disclaimer: I do not own or take credit for the creation of _Heroes. _This is meant for entertainment use only._

**Warning: Character death.**

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The First Special

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Peter was the first special Claire saw.

She remembered it like it was yesterday: the nervous anxiety of cheerleading at the game, the confusion and anger at her powers, ignoring the guy at the trophy case, and then BAM-! A hot man with a crooked lip was helping her gather her things. He said it got better.

He hadn't counted on her being Claire Bennet, illegitimate daughter of his senator-brother, Nathan Petrelli. He hadn't counted on saving her more times than she could count, on caring for her, on helping her through college, and the aftereffects of her stupid, reckless stunt after the ferris wheel at the Sullivan Bros. Carnival after he had nearly been killed by Samuel. He hadn't counted on her disappearing, resurfacing unannounced for a birthday party, an impromptu hot-dog with him on the corner, or just to say hello.

Everything got better, in time.

But some nights ago, around three o' clock in the morning as she lay curled with Gabriel in their Costa Verde apartment, the phone had shrilly rang. Scared half to death, she found her cell phone and answered with a groggy, "Hello?". What happened sent shivers down her spine and began crushing her heart. A voice she had come to know very well whispered about his father, the failing of his health, and the amount of time he had left. As she was the only known blood family still alive, she had been invited to see him before he passed.

She had thought after Central Park that Peter would keep her power, and live forever. It had only taken him four years to give it up- especially when his son Nathan was born. Claire had been seated at the table during a famous Thanksgiving celebration for the Petrelli family when Peter had cut his hand to the bone from th turkey knife. And he hadn't healed.

His words when she'd confronted him in the kitchen while giving him a small injection of her blood were simple:_ "Nathan is growing up. How wildl he be able to handle me when I'm still thirty-six after eighty years? I can't do that to him, Claire."_ His soft hand had brushed her cheek while he smiled his crooked smile. And she knew she would watch Peter die. Maybe not that day, or the next, but she remembered thinking that she would be at his side while he took his last breath.

Strangely terrified, she had traveled the world, struggling to keep up on acquaintances, friends, even previous enemies. Gabriel had been one of her last to visit in the wilderness of Montana while he was meditating and trying to keep a low profile. They had hit it off after she told him about Peter; he listened while she described how it frightened her. He made the comment that he would never, ever grow old, even if he wanted to. Taking her ability all those years ago had changed him forever.

She came to visit him more, Peter less. Eventually, she had kissed Gabriel and asked him to live with her. They had. She loved him.

Years passed before she could even blink.

And now, the time had come .

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Peter was dying.

She could see it in the deep lines around his dark eyes, hear it in the way his breath rattled in his chest when he exhaled, and feel it in the way his calloused hand fought to grip her wrist. It tore her apart as his chocolate eyes closed, then flared open wearily, like he had lapsed into death for a moment.

Gabriel was situated at the bay window, back straight, arms crossed as he peered at an ancient grandfather clock, eyes tracing the design. Claire sighed, returning her eyes to Peter. She clasped his dry, rough hand in her ageless golden one. In the gentle silence of his room, she said clearly, "I do believe in all the things you see." Her hand smoothed the fine white hair anxiously, and she smiled sadly. "What comes is better than what came before."

Peter's eyes gleamed. He understood.

The room her uncle was placed in was small (although it was bigger than her entire kitchen) compared to the other fascinating rooms of the Petrelli Mansion. It was painted a navy blue, with gold and white accents on the trim around the top and bottom crown molding; blue drapes framed windows and mirrors. A mahogany nightstand on the right side of the bed held six bottles full of pills regulating blood pressure, pain, arthritis, and heart rate. Through the bay window, New York stood in all its midday glory. It was very much an Angela Petrelli design.

It was the ninety-six year old man, however, lying on the down mattress with a heart monitor plugged into his chest and an IV situated near the bedpost that drew Claire back. Peter's long floppy hair was gone, replaced by wisps of white hair barely covering his bald head. The wrinkles dug around his eyes and nose seemed endless; his skin was jaundiced. But his jaw was still proud. Those eyes were still soft and kind.

It made Claire want to weep.

He roused slightly. His fingers struggled to point.

The room was lit with brilliant sunlight within seconds.

Gabriel Gray, retired serial killer and watch repairman, had thrown the drapes away from the window, sullen and strangely silent. His dark eyes wouldn't meet Claire's. It must not help that he could read Peter's mind if he wanted.

The door lock rattled for a moment. Claire turned her head, still holding onto Peter's worn hand. Sounds from the hallways trickled in. A man with clean cropped brown hair, wide shoulders, and a crooked lip entered, shutting the door with his foot while balancing four coffees and five breakfast burritos in his arms. The smell of greasy Mexican-American food filled the entire room, making Peter's fingers twitch in her hand.

"Hey Dad. Got your favorite," Nathan said, not bothering to whisper. He wandered across the room toward the comfortable bed laden with the elderly man wrapped in a white bedspread. Said elderly man was trying to smile, but the weariness in his eyes detracted from his energy. Gabriel was immediately by Claire's side, and he brushed the pills on the table aside, stomach rumbling. Eyes strangely blank, Nathan handed a coffee to Claire and her companion, then put one directly in Peter's hands. "You wouldn't believe that line. Gabriel would have sliced open their heads if I-"

Peter coughed harshly, ending Nathan's statement. The blonde haired, eternal teenager at his side patted his hand, but her heart broke again. Peter hadn't been able to talk for five days.

Awkward silence descended as Peter struggled to retain his grip on the coffee and Claire's hand. As if he couldn't see his old friend losing the movement in his body, Gabriel removed the coffee and held it to Peter's cracked lips. The old man managed to dribble it down his chin. Nathan watched his father, sitting on a stool they found in the cleaning cabinet; his phone rang, but he ignored it pointedly.

Instead, he unwrapped a burrito. "Megan said to tell you hi." His eyes met Claire's.

Claire smiled. She had always like Nathan's wife. "How is she doing with your new baby? Katie, right?"

Nathan laughed. Behind his eyes, lights were dancing. "She's a handful. Crazy as hell. She screams for mom whenever I pick her up and when I put her down she glares at me like I'm the bad guy...but no," he nodded silently in thanks to her, "We're doing as well as we can, given..." His eyes hollowed, and although he tried to stop from looking at his father, Claire saw the way he took a giant, steadying breath. There was no way to be perfect, especially when the man who had raised him was shaking with death.

There was a gentle rap on the wooden doorframe. A blonde-haired head poked in; it was John, Nathan's thirteen year old son. "Hey, grandpa," said the boy quietly, fear in his eyes, "Simon and Monty are here. Didja...you want to see them...?" His white knuckles were wrapped around the doorknob like it was a lifeline.

Nathan nodded, fingers waving slightly. There was no response from Peter, but it didn't matter because John was shifted out of the doorway by two gentlemen.

Simon and Monty were tall in their forties, nearly as tall as their long-gone father. With dark hair from their mother and the square, proud jaw from Senator Nathan Petrelli, they seemed straight out of memory from the newspapers of 2008. Not surprisingly, both were in politics, with Simon as secretary to a senator and Monty as the newly elected New York State Representative. The only time Claire had seen them since Peter had gotten married was twenty years ago at a Petrelli family dinner.

Seeing his relatives, Peter's son Nathan took a heavy breath. She broke eye contact. She hadn't realized how much Nathan looked like a young Peter as the pain crossed his face. Crowded, Gabriel slunk into the shadows, moodily slipping his coffee.

Simon stared at Claire -she tensed uneasily- as he slowly closed the door. His dark eyes were full of accusations and as he crossed the room, he managed a curt nod, neck twisting slightly to glance at his younger brother. Monty's face was a blank wall, but the blonde knew exactly what they thought: _"Why is Claire here? Why doesn't she leave?" _The two brothers shuffled around the bed awkwardly. The more compassionate, Simon knelt and whispered, "We wanted to talk to you before..." His brother awkwardly patted Peter's leg through the covers, saying, "Everything is taken care of, Uncle Pete. They're allowing you another hour of visiting before we leave."

Claire felt the tears start hot under her eyelids.

There was no more time.

The boys around her shifted uncomfortably, and Monty stood, turning to speak with an unmoving Nathan. His eyes bored into his cousin, "Do you need anything? We're going to be downstairs."

Lost in thought, the son of Peter seemed ready to break. Claire had continued to talk to him for days, remaining at his father's side and allowing him to go to the family to break the news. A stroke. Peter was dying from a clot in his brain. Six days ago after flying in immediately from Costa Verde, Claire hadn't been able to stop the tears when she and Gabriel had walked hand in hand in to see the physician checking Peter's vital signs. The stats were dangerously low five days ago.

Why did Peter hang on? What was left? When she was younger, she had felt the desire to let go as the black overtook her senses, but this was different. Peter had led a life. He was surrounded by family and friends, in a warm environment. He had lived to see his son's marriage to a spirited girl from Illinois, his grandson's graduation from college, and both Simon and Monty's achievements. There had been so much _good_ he was involved in.

Simon's phone began buzzing loudly in his gray suit's breast pocket. With a thin-lipped expression, he answered it with a "Simon Petrelli..." and walked politely into the hallway. Monty eyed Claire and Gabriel, lingering on the blonde woman who had remained unchanged in age for the entire time he . Their presence hadn't ever been questioned, but he didn't know the true story behind the relationship and he had made it explicitly clear that he didn't trust them. He hadn't even met Claire until he was well into his thirties.

Peter coughed.

"Give us a minute," Nathan said suddenly, waving Monty away. His sharp blue eyes demanded obedience, and even though Monty was a polished Senator, he pursed his lips and immediately excused himself. The door shut with a solid click.

Ignoring the departure, Claire whispered, "Peter, we're here. Anything you want to tell Gabe? He's sulking in the corner."

For a few moments, the screens in the corner dropped. Claire bit her lip to keep from screaming when his heartbeat faintly stopped and started like a wind on a hot day. Taking a gulp, Nathan stood, walking in a daze to his father's side. Gabriel was suddenly across the bed, eyes serious.

"Pete?" he said, "Think it. I'll tell her and Nathan."

Peter's eyes glazed over, staring into Claire. His hand slackened.

Frowning slightly as he read Peter's mind, Gabriel translated softly: "_Nathan, I love you. I'm proud of you and John._" The ex-serial killer hesitated, and continued, "_Claire. I'll always remember Homecoming._" And: "_You take care of her, Gabriel._"

Nathan exchanged a desperate look with Claire, nodding quietly. "Anything, Dad." Gently, his hand settled on her shoulder, and his father's hand.

Tears swarmed Claire's baby face, and she kissed Peter's cheek, sobbing. "Pete, you were the first special I ever saw. I love you. I love you. I'm sorry." Lowering her head to the covers, she whispered, "I'll believe. I found you."

The machine only flickered once.

Peter's entire body simply sagged, a smile finally breaking on his wrinkled face. The sunlight warmed his cheeks and the blankets piled around him looked like he'd simply curled up to take a nap. But the silent machine said otherwise. In two seconds, it was over.

Unreal.

Harsh.

Finished.

Warm lips on her neck brought her around. Gabriel was holding both Peter's lifeless hand and hers together. His high cheekbones were sharp, his eyebrows knitted together. The smile he gave her was forced. Gently, he extracted her hand from Peter's, herding her through the room, past Nathan's fist against the wall, into the hallway. It was too blurry and too hard and she had a lump in her throat and her head ached...

She was shepherded into a corner by a dusty window. Her chest heaved. Gabriel leaned in to kiss her desperately.

Claire sobbed into him, hands fisting in his shirt.

_Peter._

"Peter loved you," Gabriel said sharply, "I love you. While I'm here, you won't be alone."

And all she could think was:

_I'm the last special he ever saw._

_0_

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End file.
